


Highest Bidder

by Zai42



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Auction, Circus, Do Not Archive, F/F, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Public Humiliation, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-05-26 10:04:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14998502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zai42/pseuds/Zai42
Summary: Nikola has won the day, which does not bode well for the members of the former Magnus Institute.





	Highest Bidder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DecoySocktopus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DecoySocktopus/gifts).



> This really got away from me, oh my god. I hope you like it!

Nikola had taken great delight in setting up a circus on the razed remnants of the Magnus Institute. Not _the_ Circus - she might have been drunk on victory but she wasn't _stupid -_ but a circus nonetheless. It was, in a way, the very antithesis of the Institute, loud and flashy and sparkling where the Institute had been austere and stately. And, of course, the Institute had ultimately followed the laws of logic. What laws Nikola's circus had - if it had any laws to speak of - Martin still wasn't certain.

  
He didn't know how long it had been or how much time had passed since they had failed to stop the Unknowing. He didn't remember much about the Unknowing - he remembered it had _hurt,_ in a way he hadn't known he could hurt, even though Jon had been so careful to keep Martin and the others as far from the ritual as he could. It hadn't mattered, in the end. The Institute had crumbled, and Nikola had come for them, and running had never even been an option.

  
The stage Nikola had constructed for them was all glitz and glamour, neon and spotlights and sequins flashing in disorienting, hypnotic patterns that Martin couldn't track even when he tried. On the bright side, it meant making out the audience was difficult. On the downside, it meant he could see his friends in sharp detail, their features shifting in the dazzling lights. Martin tried not to look - didn't want to look, didn't want to see them like this, stripped and bound and collared and defeated. But the lights shifted so strangely that sometimes he found himself staring without realizing it - at Tim, with his gaze fixed resolutely downward; at Melanie, whose eyes anxiously swept the stage; at Basira, her unshakable calm for once, just slightly, shaken.

  
Nikola bounded up onto the stage, a dancerly spring in her step, her coattails glittering in the strange lights. She wore no skin now, and the black of her carapace was deep and gleaming. She was a monster - but the monsters had won, after all.

  
"Hell- _o,_ ladies and gentlemen and all others!" she trilled, her voice high and sweet and stolen. There was the sound of cheers and applause, more distant than it seemed like it should have been if it were coming from the audience, and Nikola basked in it, her arms outstretched, her head tilted forward in something of a bow. _"Thank_ you," she said. "Now, as much fun as I hope you've all been having, I know that this is the moment we've all been waiting for."

  
Martin cried out as Nikola sank her fingers into his hair - he hadn't realized how close she had gotten. He remembered being taller than her the first and only time they had met before, but now when she dragged him to his feet and tugged him towards the front of the stage, she towered at least a foot over him, long and thin and eerie.

  
Martin squinted out into crowd; the lights nearly blinded him, but he could just make out a mass of featureless figures, staring back at him. Presumably they were real, and not more of Nikola's dolls, but who could be certain with the Stranger? Martin shivered and tried to make himself smaller as Nikola addressed their audience.

  
"Now, I know, I know, you're all waiting on someone _else,"_ she said. If she had a face, Martin imagined she would be grinning from ear to ear. "But you can hardly expect me to start with my most prized possession, can you?" The Archivist, of course. Jon was likely still backstage, being...prepared. Martin felt bile rise in his throat as wolf whistles and jeers arose from the audience, and stared at the floorboards, gnawing on his lip.

  
Nikola gave Martin an almost delicate little shake, forcing him to lift his head. "But surely one of you must be interested in taking home the Archivist's most loyal little puppy?"

  
Martin blushed furiously as laughter arose from the crowd. Nikola cooed at him, pinched his cheek, and began chatting about starting bids as he tried to shut her out. His breath was coming in trembling heaves; no amount of self-soothing thought exercises eased the sick knot in his stomach. Instead he let Nikola's trilling enthusiasm wash over him, not absorbing her words, just closing his eyes and letting her voice and the flashing lights distract him. For a while it almost helped; he didn't feel much better, but he could at least accept his fate with what tattered remnants of his dignity he still had.

  
Then he became aware of the tittering laughter from the audience, and heard Nikola say in faux-shock, _"Nobody?"_

  
Martin opened his eyes, glancing sideways at Nikola. She grabbed his face in one hand, squeezing her fingertips into his cheeks - he made a pained little whimpering noise as heat began to rise in his face. "How could you say no to this face?" Nikola asked. "You absolute _monsters."_

  
Nikola led the laughter this time, and Martin wished his hands were free so he could hide his face. Instead he wrenched out of her grasp and stared, wide-eyed, at the stage, humiliation burning in his gut.

  
Nikola snapped her fingers. "Well, don't you worry, we won't let you be a useless waste," she said. Martin looked up just in time to see the hulking forms of Breekon and Hope approaching him. He took half a step backwards and yelped when they grabbed him, hauling him off his feet and marching him off the stage. "You'll make a _lovely_ side show!" Nikola called after them. She swiveled on her heel to appraise the others. "Now," she crooned, "who's next?"

* * *

  
The stage was clearly visible from the little elevated platform where they had Martin pilloried. There was a bottle of lubricant hanging on a thread around his neck and a sign at his feet that read "Donations Welcome! :)" alongside a box - currently empty, though a few circus-goers had wandered by, showing him the same vague curiosity he might have shown a street performer back when the world had been sane. Someone had pinched his ass, and one of Nikola's dancers had stopped by to threaten to pull his teeth out if he bit anyone, but for the most part, Martin had been left alone to watch the auction.

  
Tim had started up quite the bidding war. (Of course. Even scowling and scarred, Tim was gorgeous.) Nikola's showmanship was in top form as she twirled around the stage, dramatically calling out bids, encouraging the competition, and occasionally rearranging Tim into a position that exposed more of him to the slavering audience. It was an envoy of the Fairchilds who eventually won him, in exchange for several powerful artifacts and the use of their aircraft, and Tim was dragged off stage kicking and spitting and cursing. Nikola blew him as kiss as he left, and told the representative to send Simon her best wishes in "breaking" him. Martin watched him until he couldn't anymore, his heart in his throat.

  
He was still dwelling on the thought that he might never see Tim again when he felt a slap against his thigh. He yelped, trying to twist around to see who - what - had hit him. The man standing behind him looked _mostly_ human, but there was something in his countenance that sent a shiver up Martin's spine. "Donations, hm?" said the man. He ran his palm up Martin's thigh, groping absently at his ass. "What do _you_ think you're worth?"

  
"I - um - " The man pressed his thumb against Martin's hole and Martin's stumbling words died with a squeak.

  
The man snorted. "Cute," he said, and pulled out a slip of paper and a pen, using Martin's back as a solid surface to write on. "Here. 'One ticket for free passage aboard the _Tundra.'_ I think that's more than enough." The man - Peter Lukas, Martin thought, if he was remembering correctly about who owned the _Tundra_ _-_ dropped the slip in the donations box, gave Martin another healthy slap on the ass, and began drizzling lube over his fingers, chatting absently as he did so.

  
"I had hoped to win your friend just now," Peter said, slowly rubbing a fingertip over Martin's hole. "He's a pretty one, isn't he?" He pressed forward slowly, indulgently, and Martin bit his lip as he was breached. "Though with a little luck, maybe we can snag ourselves an Archivist, hm?"

  
Peter was easy and deliberate as he fingered Martin open. He hummed absently to himself, twisting his fingers one way, then the other, pressing and stretching and searching until a jolt of pleasure shuddered through Martin and he bit down on a startled cry.

  
"Ahh, _there_ we are," Peter said, his voice pleased and predatory. He repeated his movements, massaging over the same spot over and over again, his fingers thrusting with focused determination. Martin squirmed, letting out helpless little noises that he couldn't quite stifle. He kept expecting Peter to add more fingers, or to shove his cock into him, or _something -_ but Peter did nothing of the sort, just kept up a leisurely pace, rubbing expertly against the place inside Martin that sent off sparks behind his eyes.

  
When Peter finally made Martin come, his cock untouched and twitching, there were jeers and whistles, and Martin snapped open his eyes in horror. He hadn't realized how much of a crowd had assembled to watch, and while he was still registering all the eyes on him, Peter's cock finally sank into him. He cried out, too shocked to make an effort to hide it. Behind him, Peter chuckled. "You really are cute," he said, loud enough for the gathered crowd to hear and applaud.

  
In contrast to how he had fingered Martin open, Peter fucked him with quick, brutal thrusts, his hands digging bruises into Martin's hips. Martin's legs felt weak under the onslaught, his thighs trembling, the creeping ache of overstimulation settling in his belly. He stared at the ground to avoid looking out at the crowd, but he couldn't block out the sound of them, the ambient noise of laughter and chatting, the occasional snippet of a comment that made its way to him.

  
Peter came inside him. Martin had hardly expected anything else, but somehow that was what wrenched a sob from his lips. His face burned, tears tracking their way into his hairline from the way he hung limply in his bonds, panicky gasps ripping apart his attempts to take a calming breath. Behind him Peter made noises that hovered between soothing and mocking, rubbing circles on the base of Martin's spine.

  
"P-please - " Martin stammered. He wasn't certain what he was asking for, or why he was bothering at all. Peter gave his ass a laudatory pat and Martin whimpered, watching as he hopped off the platform and melted into the crowd.

  
For long minutes, Martin stood there, come dripping out of him, staring blankly at the ground. When he looked up, he realized with an awful jolt of guilt that Melanie and Basira weren't on stage any longer - gone, sold, and Martin had no idea where they could be. Not that it mattered - he had been clinging to some vague hope of escape, rescue, but somehow that seemed all the more unlikely now. But still he wanted to _know,_ at least. If only so his fruitless fantasies could be grounded in reality.

  
He was pulled sharply from his musings when fingers pressed unceremoniously into him, less intent than Peter had been, cruder, rougher. Even slicked and loosened the stretch of it burned, and Martin gnawed at his lower lip until he tasted blood. He didn't turn to look to see who was behind him. He didn't care to know. Instead he stared straight ahead at the stage, where Daisy was wild-eyed and straining against the heavy chains binding her to try and get at Nikola.

  
"I _was_ thinking of keeping this one paired up with our _last_ item since they're so close," Nikola was saying, dangling her fingers tauntingly in front of Daisy's muzzled face. "But then I remembered I'm a monster!" The crowd burst into laughter.

  
The person - thing - behind Martin pulled its fingers free with a muffled snort, apparently as amused as the rest of the audience by Nikola's antics. Whatever it sank into Martin was stiffer than a cock would have been, ridged and unyielding, and Martin sucked in a breath, his resolve to keep looking forward only strengthening. He didn't want to see whatever might be attached to...that. He stared resolutely ahead, eyes watering.

  
Daisy did not appear to be as popular as Tim had been. Nikola tutted about "poor training" and "being in need of discipline," then dragged Daisy up by her hair and purred, "Let's give them a demonstration, shall we?"

  
Martin tried to bow his head, to turn away, but a hand that felt too spindly to be human tangled in his hair and held his head up. "I think you should watch," said a voice more clicks than vowels, and Martin found himself obeying.

  
The surplus of chains holding Daisy in place had mostly kept her covered up, but somehow Nikola had managed to rearrange them without freeing Daisy. Daisy stood with her legs forced open, her head tilted back to expose her throat, her chest thrust out from the way Nikola had made her arch her back. Nikola eased a thigh between Daisy's legs, pressing up rhythmically against her cunt, and flicked the handle of her whip over one of Daisy's nipples.

  
"See?" Nikola said, sliding her thigh against Daisy. She tilted her leg so that the wetness there caught the spotlights. "She puts on a good show, but she _really_ just wants to go to a good master with a firm hand."

  
The thing behind Martin brushed something not quite a hand over Martin's cock, and Martin realized with a start he was hard. More than that - he was desperate, his cock leaking, his hips rolling of their own accord. The hand that had been holding his head in place was now simply petting his hair, and Martin let out a breathy whine.

  
On stage, Nikola was absently fucking Daisy with the handle of her whip as she took bids. Daisy had screwed her eyes shut, her muscles twitching, her mouth twisted in furious hate. Martin watched as Nikola delicately brushed a fingertip against Daisy's clit and roughly pistoned her whip into her; Daisy made a despairing noise behind her muzzle, her legs buckling, curling around herself in a heap as she shook her way through orgasm.

  
"Sold to the lovely Jude Perry!" Nikola trilled, wiping her whip off on Daisy's shoulder. "I'm so pleased, I think you're _just_ what she needs."

  
Fingertips - or a close enough facsimile - stroked up Martin's cock and he came abruptly, clenching around the thing inside him, a dazed moan dripping from his lips. He shook his head as the thing pulled out of him, a fog lifting from his mind; he watched in confusion as a perfectly normal looking man in a bowler hat deposited a few spiders into the donations box, gave Martin a wink, and slipped away.

  
Martin wanted to reach behind him to feel what had been left inside him - whatever was dripping down his thighs felt too sticky to be human. The thought vanished from his mind, however, when Nikola's voice singsonged, "And now, my lovely audience, the moment you've all been waiting for!"

  
Martin looked up abruptly; around him, the crowd's focus shifted back to the stage. Breekon and Hope had reappeared, dragging a limp and unresisting form between them. "Jon!" Martin cried, though he was drowned out by the sudden uproar from the crowd.

  
Nikola basked for a moment, then made a gesture towards Breekon and Hope, who deposited Jon in a heap on the stage. He looked up, glared at Nikola, then directed his gaze to the audience, revulsion written on his face.

  
And then he saw Martin.

  
His expression flickered from shock to horror to miserable helplessness, and Martin wanted to tear his eyes away but couldn't stand to, could only watch as the bids came in faster and with more enthusiasm than they had for anyone else. Nikola could scarcely keep up, and Martin could only watch as Jon's face grew more and more pallid the higher his price became.

  
"Oh, Archivist, you're so _popular,"_ Nikola said, pinching Jon's cheek. "I almost want to keep you and set you up next to your little puppy! I'm sure you'd rake in more." Jon jerked away from her, snarling something Martin couldn't hear, and Nikola laughed. "We'll see."

  
Martin wasn't sure how long it went on, or even what Nikola was hoping to get for a fair price - maybe she wasn't even hoping for a fair price. Maybe she just wanted to sell to whoever would be cruelest. Martin wouldn't put it past her.

  
Something sharp and unyielding tapped against Martin's back and a broken, glitchy giggle filled the air. Martin jumped and looked up to see - something. It was definitely - maybe? - humanoid, or close to humanoid, but its edges gave off the impression of a poorly compressed JPEG, strange and ill-defined. "I'd like to bid," said the thing, and Martin's nose started to bleed.

  
Nikola and Jon both looked up. Nikola let out a noise of delight and Jon surged forward, yelling,  _"Get away from him!"_ before Breekon and Hope restrained him.

  
The thing removed its hand from Martin's back and he went limp; suddenly keeping his head up was very difficult, but he had to try. Had to keep track of Jon. Couldn't lose him like he had lost Melanie and Basira.

  
"What would you like to bid, old friend?" Nikola said. She let out a brief, breathy laugh. "What do you _have_ to bid?" The crowd tittered.

  
The thing smiled, maybe. It twitched in a way that suggested a smile, glimpsed through layers of static. "Only myself," it said, gesturing widely. It left streaks of itself in the air as it did. "My bid is this: Give me the Archivist, and I will make no move to reassemble myself for one thousand years."

  
There was a pause; Nikola tilted her head in a way that would have been endearing on anything other than what she was. "A generous offer," she said slowly, tapping the place where her lip would be, if she had lips. "You," she said, pointing with her whip, "are a liar."

  
"I am!" said the thing, its voice malfunctioning and delighted. "But it's an excellent offer, isn't it? Give. Me. The Archivist. I will remain broken and unwholesome for a millennium, and make no move against you. I will be...satisfied."

  
The crowd began to murmur amongst itself; Jon had gone faintly green, his eyes wide and horrified, his chest heaving with frantic gasps. His lips formed the shape of Nikola's name. Nikola shrugged. "Deal!" she exclaimed, and the crowd burst into noise.

  
It was hard to keep track of what happened, after that. The thing moved or vanished; Jon screamed; a door opened. Martin may have lost consciousness for a moment, or perhaps only his senses. When he came back to himself, the stage was empty and the crowd had spread out once more, chatting and loitering and laughing. The donation box was fuller than it had been, and Martin shuddered weakly at the implications. There was no sign of the thing or of Jon, or of any of the others.

  
And Martin was alone, with only the circus for company.


End file.
